


backstage

by curiositykilled



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 09:26:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17261717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiositykilled/pseuds/curiositykilled
Summary: She says it with a gentle smile, as if she knows what Shiro was thinking. They’ve known each other for so long, she probably does. He can’t imagine her without dance. For years, she’d been the shining star of their studio, and she’d had such plans beyond their little city. Just thinking of the agony she had to feel at having her dreams brought down around her by some ice and an unlucky fall is nearly unbearable. It had to have been so much worse for her.“And now I get to dance with you again,” she adds. “It could have been much worse, in all.”It’s hard to believe he could ever make up for her loss, but the softness in her eyes when she looks at him almost makes Shiro believe it.





	backstage

                  After the accident, he stayed away for so long because he thought it would hurt too much to see how much he’d lost. The moment he steps back into the studio, though, Shiro knows his fear was for nothing. It’s been years, and he is out of practice. His developpés aren’t as high, his leaps as long. When he gets done with class, his whole body is sore.

                  But the joy that bubbles up in his chest like champagne – that is still exactly the same. Life is a little more vivid when he’s dancing, like everything is a little more real, a little more felt. His very soul sings.

                  So when Allura asks him to help with the soloists, he’s happy to agree. He’s grown to like teaching, and it’s nice to give back to the academy. It’s also a good excuse to spend more time in the studio – and with Allura.

                  Lance and Pidge have grown so much since he danced with them that it’s a little disorienting to work with them. They’ve both become beautiful dancers, skilled beyond what he could have guessed when they were in middle school. Some things, though, haven’t changed.

                  “Shiro! Look!”

                  He turns from his phone and blanches. Both Pidge and Lance wear blinding grins – it’s just that the former is upside down. Pidge hangs from Lance’s flexed arm by her knee, beaming. Shiro’s heart jolts. One wrong move and their Sugarplum Fairy is going to be in the hospital with a concussion. It’s his job to tell them to knock it off.

                  On the other hand, though, it’s an impressive lift. Part of Shiro wants to try it out himself, and the other part is already thinking of how it could be incorporated into choreography. He’s seen something similar before on Instagram but never considered it an option in their studio.

                  He settles on a compromise.

“Lance, set her down – carefully!” he says. “We’re working on Nutcracker right now, not contemporary.”

                  They give matching pouts but do as told, just in time for Allura to walk in. She catches the moment Pidge’s feet touch the ground and shoots Shiro a questioning look. He shakes his head slightly and mouths ‘later.’ She’s smiling as she turns to set her notebook down on the bench and start rehearsal.

                  After one of the evening rehearsals, they wind up sitting on the floor together, sharing scars. Shiro’s is the more obvious, of course, but he can’t help wincing in shared pain as Allura tells him about her hip.

                  “It’s okay,” she says when she catches his expression. She stops herself and shakes her head slightly. “I mean, it’s not – it was awful when it happened. It felt like my whole body had betrayed me. But now, I don’t mind as much. I still get to dance, even if it’s not the way I once did. And I’ve grown stronger in ways I didn’t know I was weak. I don’t mind it so much anymore.”

                  She says it with a gentle smile, as if she knows what Shiro was thinking. They’ve known each other for so long, she probably does. He can’t imagine her without dance. For years, she’d been the shining star of their studio, and she’d had such plans beyond their little city. Just thinking of the agony she had to feel at having her dreams brought down around her by some ice and an unlucky fall is nearly unbearable. It had to have been so much worse for her.

                  “And now I get to dance with you again,” she adds. “It could have been much worse, in all.”

                  It’s hard to believe he could ever make up for her loss, but the softness in her eyes when she looks at him almost makes Shiro believe it.

                  Tech week comes before he’s ready, and the week itself is chaos. After it’s over, tech week always seem to be glazed in a golden highlight, and he’s surprised by how insane the week is.

                  Neither Lance nor Pidge is the fussy type, and Shiro finds himself pleasantly surprised by how well they behave. He knows they’re more mature than they act when they’re allowed to let loose, but it’s still heartwarming to see them take on roles as leaders within the studio. More than once, he finds Pidge helping out with costumes backstage, and he even catches Keith and Lance working together to corral some of the younger kids. Keith spots him and rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling as he turns back to their task.

                  If Allura rests, it’s only in blinks. After receiving a text from her at two A.M. about the show, Shiro resolves to talk to her, but it’s hard to get a word in edgewise during rehearsal.

                  There’s a lot of pressure on her, he knows; it’s the first winter since she took over the studio from Alfor, and the Nutcracker is a holiday tradition. Expectations are high, and if it doesn’t live up to them, the studio will suffer. Unlike a new show, people have a set image when it comes to this one. As Shiro’s mom used to say, people are a lot quicker to pick up on mistakes when it’s something they’ve seen a hundred times before. For Allura’s sake, the show needs to go perfectly.

                  He picks up extra hours to help relieve some of Allura’s workload. He can’t do it all, he knows, but he can take care of things like paperwork and expense reports so she can focus on the show itself. If he winds up getting less sleep than he did in college – well, it’s only one week. He’ll manage.

                  It works until Allura catches him on the Friday of tech, dark shadows under his eyes and double-shot in hand. She cocks an eyebrow, glancing between him and the coffee.

                  “I’m fine,” he protests preemptively.

                  “You need to sleep, Shiro,” she scolds. “If you run yourself down like this, you’ll get sick.”

                  It’s a pretty obvious pot and kettle situation, and when he looks pointedly at the thermos in her hand, she flushes.

                  “Fine!” she relents. “But only this time.”

                   He grins and salutes with his travel mug, as if either of them actually believe that. Allura suppresses her smile only poorly.

                  On the morning of the Saturday shows, Shiro finds himself crouched in the crossover reassuring Hunk. Their Snow King, it appears, has gotten cold feet.

                  “What if I mistime it? What if I go too late and Shay gets hurt or go too early and she’s not ready,” he says. “Or if my grip isn’t right and she falls or – or –“

                  “Hunk.”

                  He meets Shiro’s eyes with a startled look, as if he had forgotten Shiro was even there. Given how quickly Hunk’s mind works even when it isn’t fueled by anxious energy, Shiro wouldn’t be surprised if that were true.

                  “Take a deep breath,” he instructs. “And listen. You’ve practiced this for months. You and Shay have done every step in this pas a hundred times over. Today, tonight – it’s no different. Your body knows the steps, knows how to do all the lifts and turns. You could do this in your sleep.”

                  Hunk’s expression doesn’t look totally convinced; he side-eyes Shiro a little worriedly. Still, he exhales and gives a shaky little nod. With a sniff, he wipes at the tears under his eyes and gives another nod.

                  “Yeah,” he says. “You’re right. Sorry, I – I just–”

                  Shiro wraps his arm around Hunk’s shoulders and pulls him in for a partial hug.

                  “Don’t worry about it, Hunk,” he soothes. “Everybody gets nervous. The fact that you keep going even when you’re scared just makes you brave.”

                  There’s another sniff, and Hunk dunks his head. Shiro shifts his arm to gently rub circles into Hunk’s back. He’s always been the most anxious of the students, but he’s always pushed through, too. Shiro really does admire that about him.

                  “Thanks Shiro,” he mumbles.

                  “Of course, buddy,” he says. He gives Hunk’s shoulder one more squeeze. “Now come on, don’t want frozen toes out there.”

                  Hunk laughs at that, a startled bubble of noise, and Shiro smiles in triumph. He helps Hunk up and leaves him to finish warming up.

                  Backstage, it’s a madhouse of snowflakes and dolls in the middle of warming up. The matching tutus are interspersed with bright colored shrugs and striped legwarmers, and Keith stands out like a scarlet stoplight. From what Shiro can see, he appears to be in the middle of some sort of contest with one of the students that Shiro doesn’t know very well – James, by the ‘G’ emblazoned on the back of his jacket.

                  For a moment, Shiro debates breaking them up. They really don’t need any raised tensions on show day, and they definitely don’t need someone pulling a hamstring because they were forcing a heel-in-hand stretch.

                  “You know, if we planned ahead, we could have quite a pas de deux with those two next semester.”

                  He hadn’t heard Allura step up beside him, but he’d felt the warmth of her proximity. He looks over with a raised eyebrow, trying to see if she’s serious. She meets his gaze and gives a little shrug.

                  “Think Violente but less peppy,” she offers.

                  Her hair’s pulled up in a bun, the kind of sleek look that she’d do in two minutes flat before class back when they danced together. There’s no hairspray this time, though, and little wisps curl like frost against her cheeks. With the house lights backlighting her, she is luminous.

                  “Or War, from Coppelia,” Shiro muses, turning back to the teenagers.

                  In the time he was looking away, some conclusion must have come between the two; their legs have both returned to the ground, and James turns away from Keith with a dismissive hand gesture. Behind him, Keith looks a little smug. When he catches Shiro watching, though, a flush turns his cheeks pink and he quickly looks away.

                  “I’ll go check on James,” Allura says. “Why don’t you check on Keith?”

                  He gives a little salute, already headed over.

                  Keith sees him coming and wrinkles his nose, as if expecting a lecture. Instead, Shiro reaches over to ruffle Keith’s hair; he has the entire first act to hairspray it back into place.

                  “Shiro,” Keith whines, knocking his hand away.

                  “You ready?” Shiro asks.

                  Keith shrugs, nonchalant. He’s always been small, and that doesn’t seem likely to change, but he’s grown a lot in the last three years. It’s like all that anger and fear had somehow condensed him, pulled into something tightly wound and ready to spring. Now, though, it’s relaxed to let him settle and fill out into a confident young man and leader.

                  “Sure,” he says. “Romelle and I’ve done it a hundred times.”

                  The contrast with Hunk makes Shiro smile a little. He ignores that in favor of giving his best friend a little grief.

                  “You two do make a good couple,” he remarks. “Lot of chemistry there.”

                  “The height helps,” Keith says, oblivious. “Couple years ago, I would’ve been too short for her.”

                  “But now you’re a perfect match,” Shiro continues.

                  He can see the moment Keith catches on; he straightens slightly and his eyes narrow just-so. Grinning, Shiro presses a little further.

                  “You know Arabian has a history of getting couples together,” he points out. “Zethrid and Ezor, Colleen and Sam, even Zarkon and Haggar…”

                  “You and Allura,” Keith chimes in.

                  Shiro stammers, caught off-guard. He should’ve known better, but he wasn’t prepared for Keith to retaliate. Now, his fumbling just makes it more embarrassing; he can feel his cheeks heating up scarlet.

                  “Well, it doesn’t always work that way,” he finishes lamely.

                  “Mhm,” Keith says, a little smug. “Sounds like it’s not the role after all.”

                  In lieu of a better response, Shiro knocks their shoulders together and lets it go. Keith grins. They’re quiet together for a few moments, watching the little kids file up from the dressing rooms in their satin dresses and little suits. The adults are already up in the wings, coupled up, and Shiro catches sight of Sam and Colleen Holt across the way. He lifts his hand in a wave, and they both beam as they wave back.

                  “You know, you could’ve done it this year,” Keith says.

                  Shiro looks over, a little startled by the non sequitor. Keith isn’t looking at him; he’s shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and popped one foot forward in a half-hearted calf stretch.

                  “Even if you didn’t want to do Cavalier or whatever, you could’ve done Snow or Arabian still,” Keith continues. “Russian, even.”

                  Shiro cants his head, considering. Keith’s not wrong; though Shiro’s out of practice, he could have pushed himself enough to do one of the variations at least. He’s done all of them enough times that he can still mark the choreography in his dreams.

                  “Maybe,” he agrees. “But I’d rather ease back in than stress myself out trying to get up to that level so soon. Anyway, you guys deserve the roles you got. I wouldn’t want to take one of them away from you out of some weird seniority.”

                  There’s also a part of him that would feel wrong about dancing any of the duets while Allura was forced to watch from the wings. He’s danced with others before, and he loves ballet for more than his partners. But Allura is special. If he were to come back to his home studio to perform now, after everything, he would want to share it with her.

                  He opts not to tell Keith that.

                  “I should go check in with Ro,” Keith says, straightening up. “She wanted to go over opening again.”

                  Beyond them, past the bright lights of the stage, Shiro can hear the overture start. The audience is hushed and the wings filled only with whispers. Excitement prickles across his nerves like little drops of light.

                  “If I don’t see you before, I know you’ll do great,” he says. “Just remember to breathe and not rush.”

                  “Yeah, yeah, patience,” Keith interjects, teasing.

                  He’s smiling, though, and Shiro knows he isn’t actually annoyed. Reaching out, he gives Keith’s shoulder a quick squeeze.

                  “Merde,” he says.

                  Keith replies with his hand on Shiro’s arm and a smile, and then they separate.

                  Now that it’s showtime, Shiro doesn’t have an official station. The volunteers and parents have commandeered the quick change area, and the wings are cleared of everyone but crew and dancers. He helps where he’s needed backstage and watches Arabian from the wings, cheering when Keith and Romelle finish the grueling dance. Keith grins as he enters the wing, and Shiro tugs him into a big hug, sweat and all.

                  For the rest of the show, though, he finds himself watching the TV in the crossover. It’s quiet and still, and he’s out of the way of the people who are actually working here. They’re in the middle of Waltz of the Flowers when Allura finds him.

                  “Are you hiding?” she asks.

                  He turns to her with a laugh, a little startled. He hadn’t heard her enter.

                  "Just trying to stay out of the way," he admits. "I'm not used to not having a job."

                  Allura breathes out a laugh and walks over to join him. She bumps her shoulder into his arm gently and smiles.

                  "It does leave you at a bit of a loss for what to do," she agrees.

                  On the TV screen, Dewdrop twirls across stage in a series of pique turns that culminates in a back-breaking arabesque as the corps re-enters.

                  "She's grown so much this last year," Allura remarks. "They all have, really. I'm so proud of how they've stepped up this year."

                  "They've had a great role model to lead them," Shiro says, resting his hand on her shoulder.

                  She looks up at him with a smile that's soft and intimate and sets something warm unfurling in his chest. If he leans a little more into where their arms touch, there's no one here to tell.

                  Onscreen, the waltz comes to an end in a flurry of swirling pink tutus and the crowd erupts in applause as they dance offstage. It grows quiet, then, anticipation hushing the audience both in the seats and in the wings.

                  Pidge and Lance step from the shadows in graceful unison, as if they were formed of the very same essence. The smiles they wear aren't the giddy grins of the younger dancers but something a little subtler, almost regal.

                  Beside him, Allura lets out a little sigh. It’s half contentment and half something like wist. Looking up at the TV, there’s no envy in her expression but perhaps something like nostalgia. Remembering the last time she danced it, perhaps, or maybe the last time she walked across that stage as something other than a teacher.

                  On a whim, Shiro offers out his hand. Allura looks up, surprised. He smiles.

                  “C’mon,” he offers.

                  “It’s been ages,” Allura protests. “I probably can’t even do most of it.”

                  Shiro shrugs but doesn’t drop his hand.

                  “So it’ll just be for fun,” he says. “There’s no audience here.”

                  For a moment longer, it seems she really will say no. Then, she relents with a little smile as she sets her hand delicately over his and steps into a sous-sus to match Pidge’s on the TV. Her leg unfolds to ninety degrees instead of the high developpé onscreen, and her tennis shoes squeak against the floor as he turns her in a promenade. When she goes to pirouette, the sole sticks against the marleyed floor, and they both have to stifle laughter. It’s no performance for the history books or even for the stage.

                  It was never meant to be. It’s only for the two of them. The old familiar steps look a little different now than they did six years ago when they last performed them. The way their bodies move through them has changed, but they meet each other in the middle and gently reacquaint themselves. They’ve each grown while apart, but it seems they grew in the same directions; moving together comes as easily as if they were born to it.

                  The last lift turns into more of a hug than any real step, and Allura is laughing softly as Shiro spins her around with her arms extended and face tilted toward the light. Her delight sets a smile over his lips, enchanted. As the music softens to a close, he lets her slip carefully down through his arms till her feet touch the ground. Her arms follow, settling around his shoulders.

One hand just barely brushes through the short hair at the nape of his neck. There’s a flush warming her cheeks, and her eyes are lit with the blue of the crossover lights. Curls have escaped her bun and fall gently against her cheeks.

                  Neither one of them makes a move to separate. Allura’s hand slides forward to cup his jaw, her head tilting slightly. She glances up at him just once, as if to ask permission. He gives it freely.

                  It’s a gentle kiss, nearly chaste. Her lips are soft and he can feel the bite of her chapstick on his own – mint and beeswax, the kind she’s always worn. His hand spreads against the low of her back, pulling her closer to him, and hers curls in his hair. Her thumbtip brushes against the edge of his scar, sending a little shiver through his skin.

                  They separate just briefly and only so far as to let them both catch their breath.

                  “Thank you, Takashi,” she murmurs.

                  “You never have to thank me for anything,” he answers, leaning back in.

                  The music of Lance’s solo starts, and Shiro knows they should watch. He’s been working hard for this, and they should be there to cheer both him and Pidge on in their moment in the spotlight. They will – in a moment.

                  For right now, Shiro lets himself ignore the TV and the stage and the audience far beyond. The only star he needs is right here in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> pls screm with me about ballet AUs forever


End file.
